Meditations on Rule
by Undomiel Regina
Summary: Court politics, like battlefield tactics, benefit from lateral thinking. Kushana introspection, after the manga ends. Written for Truth for Yuletide 2012.


Kushana stood, staring out the front of the troop transport. Torumekian land lay below, the first she had seen since the start of this damned campaign. Another day would see them to the capital. She had been born in that viper's nest and now she would die there, although with any luck that was still far in the future. If her father had done her any favors, it was in conceiving her so late in life, the last and least of his children, so that she was still young now, as none of her brothers would have been in her position. One day left before she must have her strategy in place. Entering the capital would mean being torn apart by the worms who comprised the court, elsewise. She could expect no supporters there — the men who had given her a power base were all on this ship, or dead in the Dorok lands. No bootlicking noble had dared to back the Emperor's hated daughter. It was as well that she had no interest in claiming the throne proper. With such scanty evidence of precedence as she could muster (really, what man would believe the Fool to be a trustworthy witness when it would mean the ruin of all his hopes?) they would never allow her to be crowned empress, and she lacked the resources to combat a true rebellion in the field. Far better tactically to declare herself regent and leave them to assume she left the throne empty for a brother who would never return. She was simply fortunate that for once, tactics and personal inclination aligned.

So, then, what resources could she muster? There would be no help from the commoners, not yet. They feared the attention of the White Witch of Torumekia almost as much as the Empire's enemies did. It would be years before they could come to trust or love her. Best to discount them entirely until she could spare the time to take them in hand and make them her own as she had the Third Army. Nor could she call on the Dorok now, despite the friendship she had with them through Nausicäa. Her people would see such a request as an invasion, branding her a traitor-queen who sold their country to their enemies. And they would not be far wrong, for she was sure the price of aid would be settlements on Torumekian soil, which she could not afford to pay. Though truly, the thought of Dorok settlements had its merits, and was best filed away for days of peace where such negotiations might proceed from a place of strength. The falling birth rates were a concern still, and new blood meant new hands to work the fields, if they would swear to obey Torumekian law. The vile emperor and his brother were both dead, so a single tribe displaced by the daikaisho might join them at terms the whole nation would have scoffed at. Thoughts for the future, useless now. Kushana turned her mind back to the tactics of the moment.

The nobles… similarly worthless. Those who had not backed one of her brothers had been loyal to her father, and the enmity between them was an ill-concealed secret. The ones who might have flocked to her by inclination would fear her retribution for their attentions to her enemies and, in truth, their fear might be justified given the woman she had been when last they saw her. There would be a few cringing lickspittles who would crawl on their bellies for her, another few who would speak of friendship only to eliminate her at the first opportunity. No tools she could turn to her hand. But also, fortunately, for the most part nothing against which she need take preemptive action. Killing left her sick at heart now, after the brutal waste of the Dorok campaign and the lethal compassion she had met in Nausicäa. Only a few would oppose her openly. Those she could let live, stripped of their titles, lands, and wealth, though regretfully not their allies in court. That much mercy she would afford them. A second strike, though, or one against her mother instead of herself direct, would have to be met with dishonorable execution. (Honorable execution would only encourage the worst of the fools: the ones who honestly believed it better than disgrace. Kushana, having faced the probability of both in recent weeks, far preferred to live and restore her honor.)

All her aid must come from her allies aboard, then, as she had anticipated. The Fool had no love for her family and no constituency even if he did. Most likely he could be safely discounted. He might lie and discredit her, if he thought he could, but Kushana believed his healthy fear of her, cultivated over years as her father's creature, would keep him honest.

Her men. Her brave, gallant, beloved Third Army. They were so reduced and yet, perhaps, in their decimation lay the seeds of their value. A company of only two hundred men would ordinarily be no threat to the Empire, but nearly every fighting man had been diverted to the front, nearly every member of her father's guard had followed him to Shuwa and the Crypt. She could take advantage, declare the Imperial Guard a privilege of the emperor and refuse their skills, call it an honor she does not merit. She would create a new troop, the Citadel Guard, or the Regent's, or some such, and fill it with the remaining Third Army. They deserved such an honor, and she would not be parted from them. They had proven time and again that they would step between her and certain death, and though she prayed desperately that they need never do so again she knew she would require that loyalty in the years to come. It was so easy for a ruler to fall by the inattentiveness of a careless guard, or the malice of a malcontent one, and she need never fear such an end under their watchful eyes.

With two hundred loyal men, she could hold the Imperial citadel, so carefully provisioned and fortified, against anything the nobles could muster. Ancient machines could have skewed that reckoning, had her father been less fanatically jealous. Her coffers would be filled with precious technology, useless for providing the immortality he had craved but surely a potent force for destruction, sufficient threat to sway any challenger. The machines would all have to be dealt with, but not until her grip on power is sure. Her experience with the God-Warrior counselled their immediate destruction, but she had long ago learned that such lack of tactical thought could only lead to ruin. (Nausicäa would surely disagree, but she was a creature of compassion and principle and would surely remove them lest the world burn. Except Kushana could not help but remember that she left the God-Warrior alive, used him in pursuit of a greater goal, and so perhaps she would understand after all.)

So what, then, of the sole serpent left nursing at her breast? How could she turn Kurotawa to her purpose? He would surely look up at her, smiling in that way that swore he jested, and propose marriage. He would not, of course, be joking. She would decline. She had escaped marriage to one such power-hungry snake of late and had no desire to risk another. A disappointed Kurotawa would have to be placed carefully, high enough to be honored by the assignment lest he turn in response to nobles offering more, yet not in a position where he might whirl and sink his fangs into her of his own will. She could dismiss him out of hand, of course, or even imprison or execute him. He had been her father's chosen tool, and if she made that known none would say her nay. But she had grown to like him, and the months and rescues had made him hers as much as any man of the Third Army. She had no desire to play him false now, before any deed that warranted it.

He could not be her steward or her chamberlain. Both were positions for nobles and he was common-born. And, too, both offered unfettered access to her person. It would be so easy for him to take advantage. Perhaps a general in one of the armies? But there he would still be left open to other influences and she could not be sure of the troops' loyalties as she was sure of those of the men of her own Third. And she wanted him nearer than that, possessive as she had grown of all the survivors. So, captain of her new guard? Her men would see to it that he would not survive a betrayal, despite the position leaving her open to his knife in her ribs. Kurotawa would know that. Having twisted his loyalty, no usurper would dare let him live a day past her own death, and that, too, he would know, leaving him doubly careful of her life. His fortunes would rise and fall with hers, his venom reserved for their enemies. Perfect.

Kushana smiled. Accounting finished, strategy prepared, all that remained was to set the plan into motion. She turned on her heel, striding toward the infirmary, to allow herself the pleasure of seeing Kurotawa's face when informed of his new position.


End file.
